*Darling, give me your absence tonight / Take the shade from the canvas and leave me the white / Let me sink in the silence that echoes inside* In the company of strangers…Hinata secured a bar stool and nursing her one and only drink for the evening, turned her back on the door and glanced around the comfortably large and not overly crowded barroom. Her roaming gaze paused on the old man who'd bought her a drink the night before. Nice old geezer. Full of stories about his beloved wife and daughter…one could almost lift out a snapshot from his myopic eyes of a young wife burning their very first meal together, of a two-year-old slyly snagging a piggyback ride on her father's shoulders, waving the sparklers fisted in her hand…hmm…that ought to have been 28 and 30 years ago, before she'd met them, that night when both mother and child had died in the fire. Looking at the old man's scars yesterday, Hinata had caught his absorption over the tired memory of having come home too late that night, his shock at seeing most of the house engulfed in flames, the smell of his burning skin as he ran through smoking wood to search for his family, the crashing sensation of the bookshelves he'd painstakingly built for his wife's collection falling on him and knocking him out, his anger at waking, the neighbors he'd cursed because they'd pulled him out instead of leaving him to die with his family. Hinata had left long before he'd gone in, and he couldn't have seen her anyway, but she was a bit taken aback when he'd looked up from his absorption and stared her straight in the eye. She wasn't the only one. When he'd bought her the beer, Hinata'd gotten a queer look from the bartender, a woman with hard eyes and a soft heart, who'd been serving the old man for ages and never before saw him exhibit any interest in his fellow drinkers. He certainly hadn't looked at the woman, even as she brought him his drink and her heart, time and again. If only obaasan knew that all the man saw was the touch of fire in Hinata's hair, all he'd gotten while she'd sat across from him was a clearer picture of how his family had died. Hinata grimaced. At least, she'd been able to make him see how they'd died without needing any exorcism, peacefully sleeping through the first few licks of fire, waking to the advanced conflagration in their one bedroom and clutching at each other, fearful only that he'd try to save them and die in the effort. At least he'd realized that they'd borne him no grudge, had loved him completely until the end. He seemed to be dwelling on happier memories now, and had barely glanced Hinata's way, no longer attracted to the smell of death on her. Yukaeshi must have taken care of the rest earlier today. Hinata drank a private toast to her sister, whom she loved and resented equally well; blast her well-meaning interfering soul. Hinata didn't mind that Yukaeshi had gotten the better end of the deal as Life-giver. She was a little put out however over Yukaeshi's penchant for always worrying over her. I can take care of myself, thank you very much. Yukaeshi seemed to think otherwise, a definite miss despite her usual discernment. Always tirelessly asking Hinata probing questions…

*I'm a stranger to myself / But don't reach for me, I'm too far away / I don't wanna talk 'cuz there's nothing left to say / So my Darling, give me your absence tonight / Take all of your sympathy and leave it outside*

In the company of strangers there are always questions but never any need for answers…Funny how she got them anyway. She knew how most of the people here were harboring some guilt over someone else's pain, or at least tending their own; she knew that the bounty hunter hunched low on the right corner was waiting on a gang of murdering thieves in the house, and had brought in most of his past targets dead, starting with the father who'd raped and killed his younger sister (predictably he thought Hinata, whom he believed to be a boy, nonetheless resembled his imouto); on the left that guy with the skull earrings could hear his dead mother in every woman's voice and so dreaded and at the same time craved their society, platonically he repeatedly tells himself; his female companion could have sex only if she got drunk, ever since she was sweet sixteen when her first boyfriend's heart had given out while they'd been at it, and so far he'd been the only guy she'd ever truly loved; the guy on the other bar stool just lost his estranged father, had come home for the funeral, and now would rather be alone in a bar than be surrounded by his father's embittered friends, he'd stomach whiskey and listen to music rather than their endless string of praises (for his father) that blindsided him with recriminations (for himself); the woman singing on the makeshift stage was a kleptomaniac who had stolen a ring off some dead guy she'd left hidden in the shed at the back of the inn, not knowing (nor caring if she had known) that her brother the piano-man had been the dead guy's lover and murderer, and soon enough would be his gravedigger; their friends, the piano-man's cohorts, were guzzling beer and being rowdy after their successful raid, believing themselves safe from suspicion; the performers' mother and "manager" up front knew about her son's proclivities but had survived two husbands and a few men on the side by minding her own business and not theirs, she'd stuck to getting tips, clearing tables and cleaning rooms; the mother's sister, the bartender and innkeeper had no child who would inherit the family business, and was counting on her niece (men in the family tended to be cursed with bad luck, poor judgment and/or ill health), having given up on the old guy ever taking up her last proposal, although he seemed a little different nowadays, but he'd been so cold to her in the past…

In the company of strangers one could pick and choose over any number of possible questions and answers…or one could opt neither to question nor to answer at all…Each person in the room had little or no interest in anyone but himself or herself. Each person in the room had his own agenda, packed emotional baggage, but entered and left the room carrying it undeterred. They would simply walk away from each other, intimacy un-called for and unwanted. Even the strange family was tied more by blood than by heart and more out of necessity than filial duty. They kept secrets from each other without seeing anything wrong in them.

*I'm trying to find a place I belong / And I suddenly feel like a different person*

What the hell is that singer babbling about? No matter. I don't really care.

In the company of strangers one expects to be lonely and if asked, would rather be. Hinata toasted the thought with grim humor. To be comfortable with oneself takes maturity, doesn't it?

*From the roots of my soul come a gentle coercion / And I ran my hand o'er a strange inversion / A vacancy that just did not belong / The child is gone*

Someone new had entered the room. Hinata could feel the blast of cold air from the doorway. She negligently opened up her mind to the newcomer, but drew a blank. She frowned, concentrating harder, but got nothing, no memory of some death that would tell her the person's identity and tie up his character. This hadn't happened since she'd gotten her powers. Astonishing. Only Yukaeshi couldn't be read, but Hinata was linked to her, knew her presence and her nee-san was undoubtedly still in her room. So who… "Have you come for me, stranger?" Be damned to you. She would not turn to look. It was one thing to be alert and quite another to be frightened. Hinata would meet whoever it was with defiance rather than fear.

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"The Child is Gone" by Fiona Apple

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Yukaeshi suddenly woke up, clutching her breast. She felt a terrible urgency in her limbs, an unusual tightening in her abdomen. She needed to go downstairs, for something was about to happen…

I can't move. I can't move a thing. Oh no… I can't afford to be sick now. I have to be strong for my family…

"Hinata!" Her sister needed her. Kuso, what's come over me?

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"Well, since you asked my dear, no." Hinata knew that voice. It carried over the singer's melodious tunes, over the piano music, over the hubbub of the two celebrating thieves. It made heads lost in memory or oblivious in drink swivel towards the doorway, to the heartbreakingly beautiful woman who stood proudly and glanced rather pointedly at Hinata, who still refused to turn around. With a graceful shrug of her shoulders, the woman slid into the stool adjacent to Hinata, and faced the younger girl.

"Kanzeon."

"Well met, Hinata-chan. You are looking none the worse for all your trials. I hear you've been spending a lot of time in…" Kanzeon made a slight turn of hand that encompassed the whole room. She smiled at the recently bereaved man and made his heart infinitely lighter. In a buoyant daze, he left his payment inclusive of generous tip and headed home. Weeks later, his mind would still be drugged and overcome by that smile, unhearing of the vituperative comments his father's friends dished out.

"I've been hearing that a lot too. Why are you here, Kanzeon-san?" Hinata had noticed the by-play but chose to ignore it. One does what one is meant to do. Kanzeon turned back to her, and Hinata felt her gut clenching with foreboding. What exactly was it that Kanzeon meant to do that concerned her?

"I'm not here for you, Hinata-chan." The repetition seemed to be an offered reassurance of sorts. It had little effect on Hinata, who waited, stoically, for the axe to fall on her head. Kanzeon looked a little uncomfortable, a small pucker bringing her eyebrows closer together, managing to be charming anyway. The pucker disappeared and Hinata wondered if she'd been imagining things. The Buddha looked as resolute as ever.

Now what?

"Let me get that for you." In a quick, blurring move, Kanzeon had taken possession of Hinata's bottle. "You shouldn't have been drinking so, Hina-chan." Compassion, regret and a ruthless determination whirled in her judicious eyes.

"Kanzeon…" Hinata's voice now had a slight edge. Something was wrong; she could feel it. She was breaking out in a cold sweat and swallowing repeatedly, keeping in the urge to vomit. "Why…" Hinata gripped the edge of the bar-ledge. "What have you done?"

"I came for the child." Kanzeon stared unflinchingly at the shock and dawning apprehension in Hinata's eyes. "Yours and Homura's."

Hinata's face drained of all color. She stood up, slowly, shuddering at the tremors racing up and down her spine. Her whole body felt like melted rubber. She looked down with horror at the woman she considered a friend. "I'm not pregnant. I can't be…! It's Yukaeshi, not me. She's been exhibiting the signs. I tell you…I can't get pregnant!" Hinata shook her head in negation, even as she knew, deep down, that Kanzeon spoke truth. Automatically, she'd been taking the same medicine she gave to Yukaeshi to prevent morning sickness, deluding herself that it was used not only for minimizing stomach upsets, but as a general tonic to soothe stressed-out nerves. She had been harboring life…no, she'd been carelessly playing with life. Her eyes turned to the bottle clutched in Kanzeon's hands, her hands crossed over her belly in a protective gesture. It's too late. Two months…I had a baby inside of me…all this time. She's taken my baby…our baby. Mine…Homura's!

* A vacancy that just did not belong / The child is gone*